


Crash and Burn

by JackOlantern



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOlantern/pseuds/JackOlantern
Summary: You've been working for the Chicago Bureau for the past two years now, when one fateful day you get a phone call, asking you to come in to work, and that on a Sunday. Never would you have imagined to work alongside Alexander 'Bloodhound' Mahone's team of top-class federal agents, hunting down the infamous Fox River Eight... And never would you have thought that a man like Special Agent in Charge Mahone could get your blood to boil the way it does whenever you argue. Amongst other things.
Relationships: Alex Mahone/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 49





	1. Laundry and Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Watch out for foul language and an increased appreciation for the ice-cold Agent's many talents! Chapter 7 is where things get naughty ;)

You were late. It wasn’t your fault, really, as you had been in the middle of doing a month’s worth load of laundry when your phone had interrupted and the clipped voice of an audibly frustrated secretary had informed you of an impromptu meeting at the bureau. When you had asked when, the answer had been that the Bureau didn’t make appointments and that you were expected within the next thirty minutes. Then the receiver had clicked and you had been left standing in the middle of the empty laundromat, the only thing left to curse at being your dirty pile of whites and grays.

Currently, you were at the mercy of the same stick-up-his-backside guy that had been so extraordinarily unhelpful on the phone. ‘Special Agent (L/N)?’

‘That’s me.’

The man sniffed haughtily at your appearance, clearly disapproving of your get-up. Truth be told, it _had_ been the laundry day of the month. But you doubted that he’d have accepted any reason at all for wearing a too large t-shirt, too short jean shorts, and dirty cowboy boots in _his_ lobby, so you grit your teeth in the semblance of a smile and just prayed that this whole damn thing would be over as soon as possible. 

‘Assistant Director de Silva of the Criminal Investigations Branch will now see you.’ Your shocked expression clearly gave goody-two-shoes behind the counter some pleasure as he smoothed a hand over his impeccably slick hairstyle and gave another condescending sniff, as if to say ‘bet you’re wishing now you’d have done your laundry earlier.’

Leaving the reception behind you, you made your way to de Silva’s office, pausing briefly to mentally prepare yourself for whatever lay behind that solid oak door. Then, you pushed the handle, and strode inside. Assistant Director Ricardo de Silva looked up in annoyance at your entry, but your eyes immediately focused on the second man, sitting beside the empty chair that assumedly had been set out for you. Blonde mane of hair, high forehead, sharp cheekbones that you’d cut yourself touching, a name easily sprang to mind, thanks to its repeated occurrence in connection to the recently escaped ‘Fox River Eight’. _The Bloodhound_ they called him, the manhunt division specialist.

You were definitely in trouble.

‘Special Agent in Charge Mahone, meet Special Agent L/N,’ de Silva introduced unceremoniously, waving a careless hand between the two of you. He didn’t rise to greet you, and neither did you move any muscle in sign of a friendly introduction. You could feel the cold gaze of his spectacularly blue eyes firmly rake over your admittedly somewhat less-than-professional appearance, and you saw a muscle twitch in the hard line of his jaw. You suppressed the childish urge to stick your tongue out at him, just to see how he’d react. Instead, you moved to sit, slouching away from the man beside you who had already refocussed on de Silva, attentively waiting for an explanation. Besides his admittedly very masculine good looks, you got an oddly jumpy vibe from him, which stood in stark contrast to his freshly pressed navy suit. Maybe you were imagining things.

‘Good of you to join us on what was clearly very short notice for you,’ de Silva’s voice cut through your thoughts, throwing a pointed look at your outfit, before continuing. ‘I’ll make this short: in light of the recent Fox River Prison incident, we have collectively come to the decision that your team, Special Agent in Charge Mahone, could use another helping hand.’

You could have cut the silence that followed in the office with a knife.

‘Now, Special Agent L/N, even though you haven’t been with us long, the Bureau values a straight-thinking, intuitive agent like you have proven to be, following your last, if I may say so, very well-handled mission.’ 

You felt like you had been plunged under water. Working for the manhunt division? You had only just settled in with Internal Affairs, and you loved your job at the Bureau. Even if the compliment had fed some well-deserved praise to your ego, you felt far from ready to work in a division like the one you had been just assigned to, so far from ready to work under _him_. Apparently, your partner/boss-to-be thought the same.

‘You call me in for this?’ You could hear the quiet anger causing a tremor in the man’s husky baritone. ‘With all due respect, I don’t understand how a rookie agent is supposed to be anything but a hinderance to me, and my team. No offence,’ he added with a sneer in your direction that told you the comment wasn’t intended do anything but offend.

‘None taken, _boss_ ,’ you shot back, relishing the way those watercolour blue eyes darkened a shade in anger at your tone. ‘Now,’ de Silva cut in again, clearly attempting to diffuse the tension between you that had multiplied threefold in the last few seconds, ‘L/N, move your things up to floor three ASAP, you’ll start work in the Criminal Branch as of tomorrow. Keep that direct approach and you’ll do well. Mahone, I hear your hesitation, but I can assure you that she comes with the highest praise from the Intelligence Branch. You’re to make certain she is given an active role and is made useful, understand? And you will both like it.’

Clearly, this wasn’t going to be the case for either of you, but there was no way around it. ‘Yes, sir,’ you acknowledged grudgingly as the man beside you merely coughed and rearranged his suit.

‘I expect good work from the both of you,’ de Silva further instructed, his heart secretly going out to the both of you. It was an unorthodox move, he agreed, but for this particular case, you as the younger agent would be a valuable asset, keeping Mahone in line with the rulebook and bringing good team spirit to the table. ‘And the Bureau expects you to perform efficiently on the current situation at hand,’ he added as he tossed a file across the desk at you.

‘Sir, if I may, who exactly is this delight person, from _Internal_ of all divisions, that I'll be integrating into my team?’ Mahone suddenly asked, voice dripping with disdain.

‘Special Agent (L/N),’ you responded in de Silva’s place, who shot you another annoyed look, but added with a shrug of his shoulders, ‘she’ll earn your respect in due time.’ You very much doubted that any such thing would happen any time soon. 

‘Now, you will report to the Chicago field office—appropriately attired—at eight-hundred hours, next Friday. Are we clear?’ Recognizing your dismissal, you sprung from your chair and headed for the door after giving your assent. Mahone however remained where he was, staring at de Silva for a long moment before standing and stepping toward the desk. He put two hands on it and leaned forward menacingly as he glared down at his boss. ‘Don’t you trust me, Ricardo?’ he muttered. ‘I put full trust in my team that I personally chose to assist me to clear up this mess, and you send me a- _a baby-sitter_ to check up on me?'

‘I do trust you,’ de Silva responded in the same low tone, unrattled by the familiar address, ‘and now I’m asking you to trust me.’  
  


‘Look,’ Mahone began accusingly, but de Silva interrupted him with a sense of finality. ‘End of story. Show some goodwill, Alex. It might make your whole life a little easier.’

Even though you were clearly not part of the conversation, the voices were agitated enough for you to hear. De Silva had made himself clear, and your lips twitched unbiddenly as you turned to finally leave. Special Agent Mahone must have been even more of a prodigy than you had heard for the usually easily irritable Assistant Director to put up with that kind of insubordinance.

That, or he was sleeping with someone further up the food chain, you thought, immediately grimacing at yourself for the bitter thought. You’d lost count of how often you’d heard the same kind of rumour about yourself being spread. Heck, your promotion up to the third floor would undoubtedly feed the merciless rumour mill with exactly that kind of bullshit.

You had a long day ahead of you tomorrow, that was sure.


	2. Problems and Morning Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew the man could be so infuriating?

It had only taken just before lunch before you already found yourself standing just outside of view from the glass window upon which golden lettering declared that ‘A. Mahone’ was sat just behind the door. Steeling yourself, you knocked, and entered. 

‘I had a question, regarding the protocol so far,’ you began to explain. He hadn't raised his head to acknowledge your presence, and you felt that by now all too familiar becoming pang of annoyance flare up when his only movement was the lowering of his long blonde lashes in irritation, eyes narrowing as he undoubtedly recognised your voice. You continued despite the menacing silence. ‘I’ve found some… irregularities regarding how certain procedures that the Bureau recommends have been followed. I believe that the efficiency-’

‘So you didn’t have a question,’ Mahone cut you off.

‘Not specifically, sir, but I did-’

‘Sounds to me like you came here to complain.’ Your spluttered protest was suppressed with a wave of his hand. ‘This is my department, and when I tell my agents to work, they work the way I like them to work.’

‘Well sir,’ you countered, ‘while that is certainly true by what I’ve seen so far, I was asked to join this team in order to increase its efficiency, by sticking to the protocol. Any irregularities I find, I’m supposed-’

His voice was quiet, yet laced through and through with anger when he interrupted you again. ‘Supposed to what? Report me?’

You swallowed hard, suppressing a shiver that had threatened to visibly run through your entire body when he had addressed you with such heavy emotion. ‘With all due respect, sir, you don’t seem to give a damn about following the rules.’ 

But you did, which meant that you both were destined to be at each other’s throats the whole time you were forced to work together.

Mahone didn’t reply at once, but mustered you from afar with an expression that bordered on… amusement? ‘You know, if we are going to work together, you’re gonna have to pull your head out of your ass real quick.’

Your mouth fell open in shock as you advanced towards his desk angrily. ‘Why the hell do you work for the Bureau of all institutions then if you really don’t give a damn?’

‘Because it isn’t about status for me,’ he said haughtily. 

Your breathing stopped for a fraction of a second as you stared at the man with undisguised hatred. The implication that the glory was your reason for working at the Bureau was way over the line. As you glowered at him, the sudden screech of his desk chair was the only warning you got before he was suddenly on your side of the desk, standing so close that you could smell his scent. The heady combination of soap and the spice of his aftershave surrounded you, and if it had been hard to breathe before you were sure to asphyxiate any second now.

‘Now you know more about the rules we follow here,' he hissed as he closely inspected the collar of your blazer from where he towered above you, a far cry taller than you with his 6'4''. Flicking his gaze back up to your undoubtedly flushed face, he delivered the parting blow: ‘and now that you’ve learned how to dress, _get back to work_.’

You didn’t need telling twice as you rushed out of his office, away from the man’s infuriating presence. The door rattling louder than necessary as you slammed it shut was only a small victory. Usually, you wouldn’t have backed down so easily; as a woman in a mainly male-dominated environment, some would argue you had to fight twice as hard to earn your position. But it slowly dawned on you that using sheer willpower against the team leader wouldn’t lead very far. No, you would have to earn his trust in a different way. Only you hadn’t the faintest how you’d accomplish that.

+++

Meeting the rest of the team had gone surprisingly smoothly, and on your third day you were already exchanging work anecdotes and smiles with Agents Wheeler and Lang over your cafeteria lunches.

‘So,’ you decided to satisfy your curiosity on a point that had been bugging you ever since you had gone on break on your first day, ‘Mahone. He doesn’t eat?’

‘Do vampires ever?’ Wheeler deadpanned, exhaling harshly when Lang elbowed him in the ribs. ‘What, it’s true.’

‘He’s very work driven’ the dark-skinned agent replied, with a glowering look at Wheeler. ‘Doesn’t make him a monster.’

‘Does he ever go home though?’ you pondered aloud, ‘he’s already here, working, when we come in, and his is the only office with the lights still on when we leave.’

‘He’s a workaholic,’ Wheeler replied, standing to get rid of his empty lunch tray. ‘Plus, his wife left him last year. Don’t think I’d fancy going home to an empty apartment much either.’

Climbing the stairs back up to the department once you had finished, you couldn’t help but feel an annoying twinge of respect for your highly hostile supervisor, which you squashed down savagely. No wonder, you thought. What sort of woman would choose to handle him in the morning? 

Unbiddenly, an image of Mahone pattering around your kitchen making coffee, shirtless, rose to mind. You would have laughed if your mind’s eye hadn’t displayed such a knack for painting the man’s muscular abdomen with anatomical detail, freckled and lean like the rest of him, glowing ethereally in the morning sunlight…

Frustrated, you ripped open a letter that had been sent to you by HR with much more force than necessary. What kind of woman indeed.


	3. Good Cops and Bad Cops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your questioning of LJ ends rather surprisingly, and Alex shows a new side of his.

An uncomfortable silence reigned in the black Chevy SUV on its way to Chicago’s municipal building. You were sat in the back, Mahone up front by the driver. You hadn’t expected yourself to be included in an official outing in just your first week, but here you were, about to be part of the questioning of none other than the younger Burrows, Lincoln Junior himself.

You had to admit, you pitied the boy. It sure seemed to you like he was getting the tough end of the stick in all of this, regardless if most of your colleagues had adopted a more ‘ the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ kinda attitude.

This was partly the reason to blame for the presently tense atmosphere. The other part was the fact that neither Wheeler nor Lang had been available to accompany Mahone on the trip, and as it so was that you were the only agent of ‘not any other particular use’ at the moment, it seemed inevitable that you were going to be the chosen addition to the team that day.

The third reason was that you were going to make sure that your cantankerous companion didn’t end up bullying the Burrow’s kid to death, a fact which had considerably soured the mood Mahone had already been in.

You snuck a look at the driver in the rear-view mirror, seeing bright eyes and a spotty face. The guy looked like he had graduated from the academy yesterday, so his next question didn’t come as a surprise to you. ‘You guys from the Bureau?’ His voice had a jittery, excitable vibe to it.

You saw Mahone’s head jerk up irritably at the interruption of his thoughts, staring at the agent as if questioning his sanity. ‘What?’ he said, hostile tone causing the young officer to colour a deep crimson.

‘What Special Agent Friendly here meant to say was yes, we are with the FBI,’ you intervened, throwing a dark look towards the front of the cabin at Mahone.

‘That’s very clever, Special Agent L/N.’

‘It’s the coffee at the Bureau,’ you continued unperturbed, eyes fixed on the passing scenery as you suppressed a grin. ‘The longer you work there, the more it inhibits your ability to make polite small talk.’

The boy was obviously lost for things to say, eyes rapidly flitting between the two of you. Mahone turned his chin, no doubt deciding whether you were even worth answering to, yet nonetheless responded: ‘As you can tell- Max, was it? Max, as you can clearly tell then, (L/N) here is obviously still highly inexperienced.’ 

You could see Max’s eyes in the rearview mirror again, gauging your reaction, examining your exchange carefully, until… ‘Ah, I get it!’ he suddenly piped up with a nervous laugh. ‘You’re doing the good cop-bad cop routine. I dig it!’

You stared incredulously for a moment before turning to Mahone, who was looking at your driver as if he had just sprouted a second head. ‘That’s right,’ you huffed with silent laughter, finding the situation way funnier than it ought to be. As you were sure to pay for it later however, you schooled your face and busied yourself with intently studying the Chicago skyline.

XXX

  
The questioning had been going surprisingly well. You had to leave it to the older agent, he was an expert at his craft. Your eyes were glued to the double-sided mirror in the questioning room as you tracked every minuscule movement of his face. Underneath those long lashes, you saw his blue eyes cast to the floor in admiration as he spoke of Michael Scofield’s intelligence. You saw the paternal smile play in the corner of his mouth when LJ didn’t hesitate to brazenly backchat him. You saw the way his eyebrows drew together in an expression of sincerity as he asked the boy for his help in bringing the escaped men in peacefully. And you believed him, even though you knew this was all just a game to get the boy to cooperate. 

That thought led to another and left you pondering for a good few minutes about the fact that you really had no idea what Mahone was trained to do. With his Agent in Charge clearing the man would have obviously done some kind of research on you, although that certainly didn’t tell him much about your actual person. Some research to learn a little bit more about him then might not be a bad idea. Lang had mentioned in passing that he had joined the army young, his unit being one of the first to step foot on Iraqi soil when the problem of the Gulf War had arisen. Wheeler had added in quite an undertone that Mahone had there been suspiciously quickly transferred to Special Ops and had even been awarded a Medal of Honor. That he had been military of some sort didn’t really come as much of a surprise to you, and you resolved to request a file on him from your old boss.

It hadn’t taken Mahone long to finish the questioning, yet you could visibly see the annoyance rolling off his back in waves as you headed down the long corridors, accompanied by LJ and his guard. As you rounded what felt like the hundredth corner, Mahone suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing you to nearly crash into him.

‘You’ve never been a proper field agent before, have you?’ he asked with a huff, calling out the question as he remained rooted to the spot, waiting for the others to catch up. Taking a moment to order your thoughts and to push away the by now almost constant annoyance of being in his presence, you muttered a quiet 'no'. Mahone tore his eyes away from where he had been studying the two elevators down the hall, looking down at you seriously. ‘You have to remember that just because you’re done with one job doesn’t mean you can slack off. Constant vigilance.’ 

‘Yes sir,’ you responded, chiding yourself for having zoned out. You knew that feeling safe only got you in trouble. As did not being able to quite look Mahone in the eye without a blush creeping into your cheeks. _That_ could only end badly.

As you refocussed, you immediately noticed something strange about your surroundings. ‘What was that about someone named Otis earlier, sir?’ you suddenly asked, remembering how LJ had insisted earlier on never having met a man of that name before. 

‘No idea.’

‘Sounds oddly familiar,’ you allowed, staring intently at a spot just above the two elevators, heartrate increasing with every passing second.

‘Mh hm,’ he nodded carelessly, stepping aside to let LJ and the guard that had finally caught up pass. They were headed towards the elevator leading back down to the prisoner transport vehicle.

‘Hold on a second,’ you spoke up, which resulted in all three men looking at you, two in surprise, one in annoyance. You pointed to the inscription just above the elevator closest to your colleague.

OTIS MANUFACTURING.

‘Sir, what did you say this Otis person’s last name was?’

‘Wright, Otis Wright…’ You saw the realization dawn on him as Mahone followed your gaze. In three quick steps he had crossed the lobby and roughly grabbed LJ by the arm, dragging him into the right elevator.

‘Wait, Mahone!’ Your protest was cut off by the elevator’s doors closing with a metallic clang. That infuriating son of a gun had had the audacity to grin before he’d disappeared from view, and that really made your blood boil. ‘You,’ you waved at the bewildered guard as you ran past him, ‘stairs, now.’ You only barely avoided a collision in the narrow stairwell, as two policemen came sprinting up the stairs as fast as they could with all their gear on. Sliding a little on the polished stone floor when you hit the building’s ground floor, the ding of the elevator doors opening alerted you to the reappearance of your colleague and the prisoner. 

‘Scofield and Burrows are in the building!’ Mahone was already barking orders and the entire floor exploded into organized chaos which you barely managed to cut through. When you reached Mahone, you felt your fingers unthinkingly close around the senior agent’s wrist, pulling him with you. 

‘This way!’ 

You unholstered your sidearm as you bolted towards the exit, seeing Mahone now close in front of you do the same. Just as he had reached the double doors however an officer clearly in a rush suddenly pushed on them from the outside, and in the last second Mahone managed to avoid the swinging door. You weren’t so lucky as it hit you square in the face, and you felt yourself falling backward with a vague ‘this is gonna hurt’ kinda feeling.

Then, your head met the ground. The still-screaming alarm the elevator had set off, Mahone’s livid cursing and the frantic apologies of the offending officer all suddenly faded into fuzzy background noise as your vision swam. All you could do was close your eyes and let your head loll to the side. You couldn’t seem to form any words, yet your thoughts were still focussed on the escaping men.

‘Sco-scofield,’ you tried to say, willing Mahone to continue the pursuit. Instead however, you felt a hand pluck at your arm before sliding under your back and sitting you up. ‘They’re outside, go, go!’ his voice suddenly shouted close to your ear and you forced your eyes open once more, finding yourself staring up at Mahone’s face. It was all of a sudden so close to yours that you could for the first time clearly see the pattern of his freckled skin, from the faint ones up by his hairline, down to the darker ones where the tanned neck of his skin disappeared into his shirt. Resisting the sudden, random urge to trace a finger down the masculine column of his throat, you wiped a hand over your hurting mouth instead, only for it to come away smeared with dark red blood. A wave of nausea passed over you, but Mahone’s voice cut through your thoughts. ‘Hey, hold still. You hit your head?’

You nodded as best as you could, tilting your head up so he could inspect the damage. His lips compressed into a tight line at what undoubtedly wasn’t a very pretty sight, but he didn’t comment. ‘Come on,’ he said suddenly, pulling you up and along toward what you recognised as his car, away from where all the noise and shouting hadn’t ceased. The fact that you weren’t protesting, being led away from a scene of injury instead of remaining put until the medics arrived, like protocol insisted, should have caused you worry, but all you could do was hang on to Mahone blindly, practically keeping your eyes closed as you moved. Everything was spinning, and the blood flowing down your face was slowly working its way down your front and onto your chest. Getting you to the car, he helped you up into the driver’s seat and gave your cheek a few light slaps, trying to get your attention. The sting of his hands on your skin didn’t even register, and suddenly everything went dark.

When you flickered back into consciousness, you realized that you were lying in a hospital bed. Sitting up caused you serious head rush, but your foggy brain was still focussed on the situation before you had passed out. ‘No!’ Angrily you tried to kick at the blanket restricting your legs, ready to spring out of bed. If only you had seen the inscription above the elevator earlier, Burrows and Scofield may have been apprehended today.

‘Hey, hey!’ Your struggle was interrupted immediately by an admonishing voice, and as you turned your head, you saw none other than Mahone scowling down at you.

‘Ugh.’ He was the last person you wanted to see, given that he had been one of the only witnesses to your embarrassing accident. Nonetheless, you addressed him reluctantly. ‘Did we get them?’ 

The agent didn’t even need to reply for you to figure out the answer. After all, you knew he wouldn’t be here, in your hospital room if Scofield and Burrows had been caught.

A vague memory of when you had flitted in and out of consciousness suddenly sprang to mind, of an emergency room and an unimpressed nurse. You further recalled with grim satisfaction an image of Mahone flashing his badge, movement immediately picking up around you, and the next thing you knew you had awoken here. ‘Ugh,’ you exclaimed again. 

‘Look,’ he began, his voice gentler than you had ever heard it. Maybe it was the drugs being pumped into your system. It definitely was. ‘Well done for spotting the Otis sign. I almost missed it.’

You huffed and only barely suppressed a whimper as the sharp exhale brought a terrible sting to your nose. ‘Just let me be miserable, okay?’ you requested grumpily, turning away from his uncomfortably perceptive eyes.

‘Okay,’ he said soothingly. ‘I'm just here to make sure you stay conscious until the doctor gets back.’

‘Ugh,’ you answered pitifully, closing your eyes. You just wanted to go back to sleep.

You heard him sigh and get to his feet. He yanked both curtains open and turned on the tiny overhead television, pumping the volume up to what looked like a horribly violent action scene in Lord of the Rings. ‘No sleeping,’ he reminded.

‘Get off my case Florence,’ you snapped at him from underneath your pillow, and when you were greeted with silence, you finally thought you’d shut him up.

‘Florence? Like Florence Nightingale?’ A quiet huff of incredulous laughter broke the illusion, and even you buried a reluctant grin into the mattress. ‘Very clever.’

You suddenly felt a warm pressure on your shoulders, before mercilessly being pulled back up into an upright position. Your struggle was futile as Mahone had moved to now sit beside you, turning you to face him, ducking his head to try to catch your eyes. ‘Hey. Don’t you go to sleep. I mean it,’ he said warningly.

So instead, you examined your ruined shirt with a distant frown. ‘I liked this shirt,’ you said softly.

‘Better the shirt than the agent.’

You swallowed thickly, a dry cough spilling from your lips. ‘Is there any water?’ Man, your voice sounded hoarse.

You drank carefully from the cup Mahone supplied, spluttering as the metallic tang of dried blood filled your mouth. You heard him mutter impatiently as you struggled, yet his hand reached up to cover your own in a supportive grip. You ignored the way your stomach flipped, yet the warm human touch did something to your already rather fragile emotional state, and you felt your eyes grow hot, wetness pooling at their edges.

When the last drops of water hit your tongue, you felt Mahone begin to lower your joined hands, about to let go. You didn't know what possessed you, but your shaky grip tightened over his long fingers. You immediately looked away in shame at your show of weakness, face growing warm as you found a spot of interest on the floor, struggling to explain the unusual gesture.

After a tense second in which you were sure he would pull away, you heard Mahone clear his throat roughly before sliding his hand further over yours, so that your hand now lay cradled in his larger one as he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

‘You did well today, Agent (L/N),’ he said and you blinked at him wordlessly, unable to respond.

A heavy knock on the door interrupted the moment, and Mahone jumped up, greeting the doctor at the door curtly before taking his leave, insisting he would see you again in the office soon. You were left sitting there, confused and slightly dazed as your head and heart both throbbed. 


	4. Mugshots and Phonecalls

Mahone had come back into the office in a less-than-talkative mood, heading straight to his office muttering something about some papers. You were stood in front of the large cork board with the eight mugshots of the escapees on it, studying the detailed criminal reports pinned beneath them. All in all, it seemed like a pretty rag-tag bunch, thrown together randomly. You moved from ‘Franklin, Benjamin Miles’ who had his chin raised and was staring back at you stubbornly, to ‘Patoshik, Charles’ who was sporting a ‘deer-caught-in-the-headlights’ look. ‘Abruzzi, John’ and ‘Apolskis, David’ both had matching bags beneath their eyes, looking beat down and tired. You then briefly paused at ‘Bagwell, Theodore’, who’s mugshot screamed all kinds of crazy, only to move quickly on to a rather flattering one of ‘Sucre, Fernando’, which was hung next to the two brothers, ‘Scofield, Michael’ and ‘Burrows, Lincoln’. The latter looked just as tired as Apolskis and Abruzzi did, but not Scofield. His body language screamed defiance… only to what? You moved in closer and saw the ghost of a smirk, frozen in place in the corner of his mouth by the coloured photograph.

‘He’s looking like he knows something we don’t.’ Mahone’s quiet voice in your ear suddenly made you jump. You had been so engrossed in the pictures that you hadn’t noticed his approach.

‘ _Christ_ boss, nearly gave me a heart-attack!’ you exclaimed, fighting off the blush creeping up your face.

He merely look back down at you wryly. ‘Constant vigilance,’ he said after a moment, then ‘How are we doing with the hospitals?’

‘We’ve covered them all, free clinics included. If it’s got bandages and bactine, we’ve got someone in there on the lookout for the brothers.’

‘Good.’ He gestured you to follow and trailed obediently after him. ‘Anything on the other six?’

‘No, but we’ve been in contact with their families, provided they still have one. They must all be lying low.’

You saw the back of his head nod slowly. ‘Do you know what the hardest thing in the world is for a con to do?’ he asked suddenly, turning to stand only a few inches away from you in the shadows of the office

You shook your head, ignoring the way his undivided attention on you did strange things to your stomach.

‘Few things in the world are certain. Death; taxes; and the fact that a man on the run will make a mistake sometime in the first 72 hours.’ He took a step closer, and you were once again forced to admit how well the scent of his aftershave mingled with the paper and printer-ink smell of the office. Like he was part of it.

‘Needing money, he’ll rob a store. Needing help, he’ll trust someone he shouldn’t. And when he does…’ He paused ominously, eyes flitting over your face as you hung to his every word, ‘…he _will_ leave behind the crumbs that will bring us right to him.’

‘But sir,’ you said, hating the slight tremor in your voice and the way your heart skipped a beat at his proximity, ‘how can you be sure of that?’

At this, he smiled. A distant onlooker may have described it as a predatory show of teeth, but the way his eyes narrowed mischievously told you it was a smile nonetheless.

‘Boss,’ a loud voice called out that moment on the other side of the office, ‘one of the blues hauled in a vagrant just half an hour ago. Seems like he was in possession of one or two items that belong to our escapees!’

You couldn’t believe what you’d just heard, Mahone’s sheer deductive skill was incredible. You felt your lips part in amazement, and his gaze lowered to your mouth, following your surprised movement.

‘How did you do that?’ you asked quietly.

When he spoke, his cool breath danced over your face and for a split second you wondered what it would feel like if he closed the gap between you. ‘I guess you could call it… experience.’

His words hung in the air between you for a tense moment before Mahone tore his gaze away, attending the agent that had brought in the new information. 

Experience, huh. Yes, Agent Mahone was clearly experienced. You couldn’t help but wonder what other areas that also applied to…

XXX

‘Any chance you got any change on ya, Ma’am?’ You looked down at the dirt-crusted hand holding on to the sleeve of your blazer. ‘Sorry,’ the man mumbled, tugging his hand away, ‘’s just that I ain’t had no lunch since yesterday…’

Sighing, you dug through your wallet, pulling out a tenner. When the clearly homeless man had been brought in, you’d hoped he would have had valuable information regarding the whereabouts of the brothers, but as it turned out, he’d just gotten to breaking the window of a car he could remember neither the color nor the location of, before the tow truck had shown up and he’d scampered.

‘There’s a two-for-one hot lunch deal going on in the cafeteria right now,’ you told him with a sigh, already bracing yourself for Mahone’s reaction when you told him your only lead hadn’t led to a single answer. ‘Just tell Joan behind the till F/N sent you.’

‘God bless you,’ the man replied thickly, wobbling towards the exit with the bill clutched in hand. He turned in the doorway however, and said ‘Seeing as you helped me out, uh, if it helps ya, the car was a grey Ford, and I found it around the corner of the 15th. Bye now.’

The words were barely out of his mouth when you were already on the phone, looking up the local tow companies. Having narrowed it down to one, you punched the number of ‘Brewster’s Towing’ into your phone and rushed back into the main office, nearly colliding with a disgruntled looking Agent Lang on your way in. ‘Sorry Felicia!’ you called over your shoulder before coming to a stop in front of your supervisor, thrusting the phone into his hand.

‘Who is it,’ Mahone asked impatiently.

‘Chuck… from Brewster’s Towing,’ you managed to get out between breaths, having to suppress a giggle at the older Agent’s incredulous look as you were forcing him to speak to a seemingly random man on the phone. ‘Scofield’s car, grey Ford, corner Hancock and 15th.’ Boy you had run fast.

At the mention of Scofield, Mahone had immediately snatched up the phone. ‘Chuck? This is Agent Mahone from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I want to alert you to a possible situation…’

You felt a friendly pat on your shoulder, Felicia having come up beside you to witness the exchange. ‘Nice work, Internal Affairs.’

You rolled your eyes at her good-natured jibe. ‘We ain’t all that bad, you know.’

‘Clearly,’ she said. ‘I don’t seem to be the only one that’s noticed though.’

Your stomach flipped nervously as you remembered the moment between you and Mahone earlier. She couldn’t have seen that, could she?

‘Brewster’s Towing,’ Mahone’s voice suddenly rang through the office, causing all agents to scramble, ‘Scofield’s there. Chuck, stall him, we’re on our way. No- no, do NOT let him leave!’

Doors were banging, coats and keys were grabbed, and suddenly half the office had left. The remainers, including you, Mahone, and Wheeler were glued to your computer screens, tracking, locating, instructing.

‘Chuck, what’s the situation? _What_?’

Clearly not hearing what he wanted to, Mahone’s angry yell cut off all background chatter, and every agent continued typing and breathing as quietly as they could.

‘ _Where the hell are those units?_ ’ he barked at nobody in particular.

Wheeler spoke up in a tiny voice, answering that they were still another seven minutes away. He had to duck and cover a split second later however, as Mahone dashed a close-by pile of neatly stacked files to the floor with a furious swipe. Papers spilled everywhere, and you immediately bent to pick up the majority of which had drifted over to settle at your feet. When you turned the pile over, a picture of a bald man with sickly pale skin and watery blue eyes stared up at you. It was a mugshot, taken in the same style as the ones hanging on the pinboard, only the name at the top read ‘Shales, Oscar’.

You would have put the picture back with the file and forgotten all about it in the next five minutes, if you hadn’t been so startled by the reaction Mahone had had, phone still to his ear when he saw you holding said file. The color had drained from his tanned face on which he wore a pained expression as he stood there, frozen.

You were about to ask if he was alright, but that moment your phone vibrated, alerting you to a text that an informant had sent about a new lead on Benjamin Franklin. When you looked back up from your screen however, Mahone was already busy again, giving instructions to a group of agents.

You decided that you had more pressing issues to think about, but resolved to not forget to look into this Shales character, and why his picture had affected Mahone in that way.


	5. Shirts and Jackets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frustration slowly begins to turn into something else...

It had been a long day. When Mahone had returned to the office looking ruffled and with his usual impeccable suit askew, you knew the showdown with Abruzzi had not gone exactly as planned. All your benign worries about the man’s mental state however had flown out the window the second you had finished reading the extensive report about what exactly had actually happened. Especially since a few vital details had been seemingly completely left out by its writer.

As it was Friday, you had had to turn down your co-workers’ invitations for drinks at the nearby bar earlier with a dark look at the Special Agent in Charge’s door- it was better to wait until everyone had left before you walked into the lion’s den to confront Mahone on the issue. You hadn’t been on the phone, getting yelled at by HQ for the last hour for nothing.

But now that everybody else had left, it was time to face the music.

‘Mahone,’ you began, entering his office after a short knock, prepared to squeeze every last vital detail out of him to complete the sloppy report. 

He was sitting behind his desk staring intently at the handsome pen clutched in his right hand, poised inches above a blank piece of paper in front of him. More disconcertingly however, you noticed a slight tremor in his hand.

‘Sir? As you must be aware, I have a few questions about what happened today.’

‘Go ahead,’ he said quietly.

‘Well, to begin with, could you explain what exactly happened out there to John Abruzzi?’

His tired gaze come to rest upon you before he spoke. ‘He came out with his gun, tried to shoot me and got shot instead. Didn’t you read the report?’

‘Well, sir, a few of our… colleagues have been asking whether you could have prevented Mr.Abruzzi’s death, if you had reacted in a different way.’ Asking was a bit of an understatement.

‘Well you can tell whoever gives a damn that I do my work my way. Now, if you could give me a moment, I almost got shot today. I’m sure protocol’s got lots to say about that,’ he snapped.

‘With all due respect, sir,’ you said, slowly beginning to lose your patience, ‘HQ called to ask specifically why you didn’t intercept Abruzzi when he was walking towards the motel. They’re saying that the way you played it, there was only one possible outcome.’

‘If HQ has a problem with the way I do things, they can pick up a gun and follow me into the field next time,’ he shot back.

You pinched the bridge of your nose harshly, trying to keep your cool. ‘I understand that, and we are all grateful to you for dealing-’

‘I don’t need your gratitude, _agent_ ,’ he said icily, now rounding on you, ‘I need competence, and if you don’t understand that then you can pack up your things and leave. How about that?’

Well. And here you had been thinking that he was beginning to accept your presence in the division.

‘Have a nice weekend, sir,’ you said, inflicting as much sarcasm into your voice as you dared before crossing the room and slamming the door shut behind you.

You couldn’t believe how ass-y one man could be.

XXX

‘He’s a _complete_ _ass_!’ you said exasperatedly, setting down the empty shot glass onto the wooden counter with much more force than you had intended to. 'His momma sure didn't raise _him_ right!'

‘Whoa there,’ Lang patted your elbow soothingly, ‘don’t let him get to you. That’s how he makes all of us feel from time to time.’

‘Uh, yeah,’ Wheeler interjected, who had been silently staring deep into his whiskey glass until then, ‘did you see him throw those files at me yesterday? I couldn’t exactly make backup drive any faster than the 90 they were already pushing down those country lanes, could I?’

‘Damn right,’ you agreed, ‘and he didn’t say a thing when I got down on my knees to pick up all those papers that just flew to the floor!’

Wheeler’s blonde head nodded viciously, glasses slipping askew.

‘You’re drunk, Wheeler,’ you giggled at the realisation, not caring how it revealed more about your own state of intoxication.

‘Gosh, don’t call me that outside the office,’ he mumbled, before trying to use a serious tone. ‘I told you, its Mark. And besides, I don’t think that that tequila, which is _disgusting_ by the way, is doing you any favours either.’

‘He has a point,’ Lang said before you could protest any more, pointing towards your top with her toothpick before spearing it into an olive in her drink and popping it into her mouth.

You pulled a face. It wasn’t your fault that the waitress had spilled a full wine glass down your front, and you thanked the Lord that you had opted for one of your nicer camisoles to wear beneath your work-shirt this morning. It wasn’t your favorite, but the silk felt nice against your skin and the lace detailing made it look dressy-uppy enough that combined with your skirt it could be considered an outfit.

‘Aaand that’s my queue.’ You grinned reluctantly, digging through your bag to pay for your tab.

‘You’re leaving? I was going to call a taxi after we’re done’ Lang said, throwing a glance at her unfinished drink. You were about to tell her that you were all for sharing a ride, when you let out a frustrated groan instead.

‘I forgot the Abruzzi file at the office,’ you said dejectedly, ‘I was gonna finish the paperwork over the weekend.’

‘Lobby should still be open,’ Mark offered, now slumped over on the bar top.

You rubbed a hand over your face before slinging your bag over your shoulder. ‘Yeah …thanks for this y’all. We’ll do this again.’

‘See you on Monday, Internal Affairs’ Lang offered, punching you on the shoulder awkwardly as a sign of goodbye.

You were grinning all the way as you retraced your steps to the Bureau, glad that you had taken them up for a drink after all. The Chicago streets were only just cooling down from the day, dusk having given way to night settling slowly over the still-buzzing city. The alcohol mixing with your blood gave you a floaty feeling as you breathed in the summer evening air, the gentle purr of cars passing in nearby streets the only sounds around you.

When you finally opened the door to the office, the entire floor was dark except for the streetlight pouring yellow light in through the windows. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding- you were glad to be alone. The Abruzzi files were lying topmost on your desk and you stuffed them into your bag.

As you headed back down the stairs again (wishing you had taken the elevator) you clutched the handrail a little harder than necessary. It had been a while since you’d gone out drinking. The cool night air hitting your face as you stepped outside the building felt heavenly against your flushed face and you closed your eyes, standing still in the empty plaza for a minute. You didn’t even register the footsteps approaching you slowly until they stopped behind you, but you were too inebriated to care for who it was.

Seconds passed in silence.

Then-

‘What _are_ you wearing?’

You whirled around and nearly choked on thin air. It was Mahone who was standing right behind you, shirt unbuttoned at the neck, tie gone and looking surprisingly docile.

Your hands flew to your arms to cover your chest protectively as you glowered at him accusingly. ‘Got a drink spilled on me.’

His eye narrowed, but he refrained from commenting any further. Now that the initial shock of seeing him here had passed, you were actually beginning to feel the chill, and you had to suppress a shiver. 

‘You cold?’

Now it was your turn to eye him suspiciously. ‘No,’ you lied. ‘Why? You aren't going to offer me your jacket _Special Agent,_ are you?’

You knew you were treading on dangerous ground here. He was technically your boss, and he didn’t even particularly seem to like you. You knew for a fact that _he_ hated the fact that you liked to follow the rules. But the way he was just standing there did funny things to your stomach, and you couldn’t help pressing his buttons him a little. You needed to be put back in your place by a cold remark so you could turn all those alcohol-fuelled, _highly inappropriate_ thoughts about his face and his hands back into the familiar annoyance you were far more comfortable feeling in his presence.

His eyebrows rose, and you prepared yourself for a scathing reply.

‘Why? Would you _like_ my jacket?’

‘I- that’s not-’, you stuttered, completely caught off guard by his silky reply. 

‘Yes?’ he breathed, slowly moving closer.

‘No, that- won’t be necessary,’ you barely managed to say, taking a few steps back to put a safe distance between you. And to calm down your racing heart.

Mahone however didn’t stop. Instead, he crossed the distance between you in a few strides, forcing you to back up until you collided with the outer wall of the Bureau. He didn’t say a word as he loomed over you and you were suddenly starkly aware of your height difference, despite the heels on your work-shoes.

That fact however lit a tiny spark of irrational anger in you. Why did he have to be so tall? It was ridiculous, really, especially since the man knew exactly how to use his height to intimidate people. But he was far from intimidating to you! Possibly encouraged by the alcohol, you raised your chin defiantly heart beating fast against your chest.

‘What’s with the Jekyll and Hyde attitude anyway? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m saying,’ you added hotly. ‘First you insult me, then you personally bring me to hospital when I’m hurt, _then_ you scare everybody at the office and throw stuff at Mark-’

‘Mark?’ He looked confused.

‘Agent Wheeler,’ you hissed, amazed that you even needed to clarify that. ‘And _then_ , when I pick up the files you drop, you stand there, looking like you’ve just seen a ghost. And who in the world is Oscar Shales anyway?’

It had been a random afterthought, but one you immediately regretted mentioning when Mahone’s eyes grew dark, and he stared down at you menacingly. ‘That is none of your business.’ 

You didn’t allow him to disarm you. You looked up at him with a challenging glare and took a step forward, suddenly noticing the pen he never let out of his sight in his jacket pocket. ‘And what is it with you and that pen?’ You knew the way that sounded, but with Mahone’s deductive skill, he had probably worked out that you were drunk from before he had even approached you. Which is why your brain realized too late that reaching out to touch an item of great importance to another person was rather rude.

You weren’t prepared for his reaction though. In the blink of an eye he had grabbed your reaching hand and pinned your wrist to the wall above your head.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ The dark, angry cadence of his voice sent an involuntary shiver through you.

You forced a laugh. ‘See? You’re totally bipolar.’ You tried to wriggle your hand out of his grip, but he renewed it with double the force. Your breath hitched as he was now a mere inch away from being pressed right up against you. It was hard to breathe in any case- with every inhale all you smelled was Mahone- his aftershave, his soap, the faint trace of cigarette smoke.

He placed his other hand beside your head and leaned in, his breath dancing over your lips. ‘You don’t know the first thing about me.’

You fought every nerve in your body that wanted to give in, that wanted to press yourself against that suit-clad body like a cat in heat. Instead, you shook your head, which was truth be told not the most eloquent thing you could have come up with.

Surprisingly, he then let go of your wrist, sliding both hands down to rest beside your shoulders as his gaze slowly lowered to your mouth, like it had a few days ago in the office. You felt your lips part in response, the tension between you suddenly drawn as tight as a bowstring. Your knees were weak.

‘Do it,’ you whispered, surprised at your own boldness.

Then, with a moment's hesitation, Mahone slid his lips on top of yours, sealing them with a hard kiss.

You were overcome with sensation as desire exploded hot in your stomach. Little shivers of pleasure and panic shot through you as his teeth dug into your bottom lip, licking and pulling, demanding entrance. You clung on to him, partly to steady yourself as yours legs had turned to jelly. As you were still processing what the hell was happening, his right hand snaked around your waist, and the other came up to curl around the back of your neck possessively. You hadn’t granted him full access to your mouth yet, keeping your lips pliant, but teasingly resistant. Mahone apparently wasn’t the man to wait patiently to get what he wanted however because you felt his fingers begin to tighten around your throat with purpose, making you gasp for breath sharply as he slowly restricted your oxygen flow.

Mahone instantly took advantage of your surprise, deepening the kiss roughly as his tongue now fully slipped into your mouth, twining with yours to tease it, to tempt it into following his movements. He could surely taste the remaining liquor on your lips, and you suddenly felt more drunk than you had ever before, drunk on lust and the heat that burned in your core.

But you were no withering flower. Emboldened by his want for you, you began to move your hands down his front, tugging at his shirt in a clear sign that you wanted it gone. When your palm finally made contact with his skin, a sound like a growl emanated from the back of his throat and your hand drifted lower, over the ripples of his stomach, dangerously close to the waistband of his briefs. He caught your hand before it managed to continue any further however, yet you clearly felt the evidence of his still clothed desire press up against your stomach.

His lips moved to your ear. ‘I’d take you right here, right now, you know, with your skirt up your thighs and your legs around my hips until you screamed my name,’ he threatened darkly.

You nearly passed out from weight of the words alone. ‘What's stopping you?’ you panted, gazing up at him.

He flashed you a dangerous look before reaching to rub his thumb over your bruised lips. ‘And here I was thinking you cared for the rules.’

His touch sent electricity through your body and almost reflexively your tongue flicked out to brush against the length of his finger. When he froze you became bolder and closed your lips around the digit, giving it a slow, experimental suck as it rested heavily on your tongue.

Mahone’s eyes darkened, an almost feral look overcoming him, and you were suddenly hyperaware of who exactly you were making out in front of the Bureau, _your workplace_ with. This was insane. You never allowed instinct to dictate over logic, but you had never met anybody you had wanted so…violently.

As you both stood in the darkened plaza against the empty building, the only thing to be heard was your heavy breathing in tandem, barely restrained lust radiating from both of your bodies. Later, as you lay in bed alone you couldn’t help thinking that you should have reacted differently in that moment of coming up for air. You had been drowning, standing there dazed as Mahone had wiped a shaky hand over his mouth before trying unsuccessfully to catch your eye.

‘This… we…’

You had nodded wordlessly.

‘This is crazy,’ he had said quietly, and you agreed. Not only had you spent the minutes adjourning your unforeseen meeting complaining viciously about him, but the way your body had been screaming to be kissed, pushed down and _overpowered_ by this man had bordered on painful. The throb between your legs had drummed out its demands steadily, but you had ended up turning your back on him, not able to think clearly in his visual presence.

A sudden warmth being draped over your bare shoulders had saved you from deciding how to react however, as Mahone, with a simple ‘see you on Monday’ had left you to your own thoughts. Sitting in the taxi back to your apartment there was something surreal about the entire thing, and you briefly wondered if it had been just another dream. Yet the dark blue suit jacket and the light-headedness that you had only just begun to overcome were proof that this was very much reality.


	6. Illinois and Utah, Alabama and Ohio

The next few days had passed without any great incident, unless you counted the awkward run-in with Michael Sullins, your former boss, when you and Mahone had just been taking the same elevator. You had finally gotten round to asking Michael about Mahone’s file (the small parts that weren’t censored, in any case) and as it turned out he had just been on his way up to meet you. Michael had been smooth enough to let the distinctive orange of the personnel file quickly disappear back inside his briefcase when he saw whose company you were in, but by the decided coldness with which Mahone had been treating you ever since you could tell that he had figured out that you had been requesting intel on him anyway.

‘It ain’t illegal,’ you were defending yourself sourly to Lang when your boss had dumped a seemingly insurmountable pile of recorded phone calls between the escaped convicts onto both your desks to work through.

‘Yeah,’ said Lang, ‘but it isn’t exactly collegial either.’

You snorted. Like he had ever extended that kind of courtesy to you, or anybody else for that matter. With a sigh, you began sorting through the stack, only to realize that it wasn’t phone calls that had gone out from all the convicts, but the evidence before you ascertained to one man in particular. That son of a-

‘Bagwell? Out of the eight cons, I get stuck with _Bagwell_?’

Lang looked for a moment as if she didn’t quite know what to say. You stared at her incredulously, then it clicked. Mahone had not only realized you had requested his file, he must have pulled yours too, and now your punishment had been delivered.

‘That,’ you spluttered, anger surging through your body, ‘now that is just-’ You couldn’t find the words to describe the resentment you felt for the man. He had picked you in particular to sit there and root through hours upon hours’ worth of phone calls, which probably contained a multitude of disgusting and horrible details of the rapist’s life. And you were sure you knew exactly why. ‘Just ‘cause I’m from ‘Bama too doesn’t make me a-, _a T-Bag_ specialist!’

Silently kicking yourself for the unfortunate choice of words, you threw a murderous look at Lang, who to her credit smothered her grin behind a tactical cough. ‘Here,’ she said placatingly, ‘we can switch, if you want. I got Sucre. Gotta warn you though, most of this is what he thinks about his _mami_ doing when he’s lying alone in his cell at night…’

You shook your head. ‘Thanks, but I don’t want to know about that as much as I don’t want to find out what Mahone will do if he finds out I somehow got out of this.’

XXX

You were sitting at the little coffee shop near your apartment that conveniently opened at 5AM, reading over the case for the tenth time as you poked at your bagel. The papers already had a small coffee stain on them, but you didn’t notice, so focussed were you on the facts of the case. It was one of the most fascinating you had ever read about. DB Cooper had been an aircraft highjacker, who on November 24, 1971 after a ransom pay-out of $5,000,000 jumped from a Boeing 727 as it was flying over the Pacific Northwest, somewhere over the cascades. Neither he, nor the money had ever been found, and to save embarrassment, the government had announced that only a million was stolen, when in truth, it had been five times the amount. Now, more than 30 years later, the FBI regarded it as a cold case.

But of course Mahone had his own agenda, so here you were, barely awake and only a few hours away from catching a flight to Salt Lake City. You’d need every bit of patience you could scrape up to get through what you knew was coming. At least your correspondents at the Utah office had been friendly enough to fax you the files without many questions asked. You s sighed, glancing at the time your lit up phone-screen displayed.

‘Damn,’ you groaned, gathering the highly classified information and unceremoniously stuffing it into your bag. You were late.

It was a commercial flight, and the tickets were waiting for you with the steward at the airline’s front desk. You rolled your head from side to side and tugged at your hairdo to loosen it a little, grumbling unhappily as you walked in the hazy dawn light through the rather empty parking lot. You had your blazer over one arm and a duffel bag of clothing and gear slung over your shoulder, dragging a suitcase behind you as you walked. When you got inside, you quickly exchanged your dirty old trainers for a pair of heels, hefting your luggage up again, and making your way to the check-in desk.

‘I knew you’d be late,’ Mahone commented as you strode past him.  
  


‘Good for you, Mahone,’ you responded with a shake of your head, not slowing as he spoke to you, ‘maybe you can use your new clairvoyance to catch us some bad guys.’

Your smart-ass response didn’t rate a reply. Mahone waited impatiently as you collected your ticket before falling in beside you to walk to security. This was now the second time you had been partnered up on a field mission, and you had a feeling this time was going to be no different from the last: Mahone was an ass who was very good at his job but very bad at following rules, and that was why you had been sent to represent the bureau’s more formal criteria.

It gave you a headache just thinking about it.

You showed your identification and were waved through security after the briefest of checks. Still thinking about Mahone’s cranky attitude, you busied yourself by thinking about what he must have had to do to pass muster. All agents went through the academy’s Rookie Agent’s Training Unit where new recruits were weeded out and specialized in a six-month-long program. Because of your communication skills and your sense of honesty, you excelled in the finer points of the law and had been promptly recruited by the OPR, the Office of Professional Responsibility.

Your suspicions that Alexander Mahone possessed a completely different set of specializations had been confirmed when you had read the details of his file that had been available at your clearance level. Looking over at your boss and partner, you knew that Mahone clearly didn’t have any issues regarding the physical side of the job. You remembered with a small shudder the muscle you had felt on him when your hands had explored his stomach that night in front of the bureau, and the steely flex of his thigh that had been wedged between your own. Yes, Mahone was lean and physically impressive, and knew exactly how to use his height to his advantage.

So although you enjoyed staying fit and occasionally even helped run the Bureau’s self-defence classes, you struggled to keep pace with him as you walked through the terminal, heels clicking against the floor in nearly twice the tempo of his strides.

Your temper flared at a particularly smiley stewardess, simpering and giggling as Mahone wished her and her colleagues standing by the plane doors a ‘good morning’ when you boarded, and you stuffed your luggage into the overhead locker with more force than necessary. Oh, how looks could be deceiving.

The same woman clad head to toe in the ghastly shade of the airline’s signature colour lingered at your row a few minutes more before departure, inquiring with batted lashes whether this was your seat-neighbour’s first time to Utah. Sensing a curt comment about to hurt the woman’s feelings, you opted to answer in his stead.

‘I’ve been before once, actually. Relative’s wedding.’ You flashed a smile at her, and she muttered a disinterested ‘oh how nice,’ before wiggling her backside down the aisle again when the pilot called to prepare for take-off.

‘Bride and groom?’ Mahone suddenly muttered.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. ‘What?’

‘Your relatives,’ he replied slowly, as if talking to a child.

‘What about them,’ you muttered irritably.

‘Were you related to them both before the wedding?’

‘Have some decency,’ you snarled, having caught on that he was playing on a rather unflattering stereotype about your home state. Now you definitely knew he had read your file. But two could play that game. ‘Better a yellowhammer than a buckeye.’

Mahone gave no sign of having heard you whatsoever, and you shook your head. ‘You’re really something,’ you ground out before you could think twice about it, ‘no wonder Internal is so interested in you.’

‘You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you,’ he shot back.

Your lips pressed together slightly. ‘Sullins does, that’s for sure.’

With a pang of mixed gratification and curiosity, you saw Mahone’s face grow pale, and you knew you had hit a chord.

‘Sullins can kiss my ass,’ he muttered darkly, but you were sure that you noticed a slight tremor in his hand as he reached up to adjust the air-conditioning.

Heart suddenly racing, you couldn’t help but deliver the parting shot. ‘Careful there, boss, I don’t think the bureau condones kissing of any kind between its employees.’

Mahone’s look was one of blatant disbelief. You felt his breath hit the side of your face as he leaned in threateningly. ‘Looks like you don’t really practice what you preach then, huh.’

This time it was your turn to swallow hard, but you turned your gaze onto the other agent, eyes glinting dangerously. ‘And you enjoyed it.’ It wasn’t a question, simply a fact.

The ghost of a self-deprecating smile crossed Mahone’s lips, before he responded with a derogatory sneer. ‘Stick to your rulebook, rookie.’

You finally turned away and the rest of the flight passed in stony silence, interrupted only on one occasion when the simpering stewardess from earlier brought over a cup of water by Mahone’s request and he thanked her quietly, swallowing a pill he had procured from somewhere in his pockets.

You were in desperate need for some Advil yourself as you kneaded your temples against the pain tapping out a steady rhythm there.

You had a feeling that this was only the beginning to a nightmare of a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alabama is the Yellowhammer State, Ohio (Mahone's home state) is the Buckeye State, just in case that caused any confusion!
> 
> Any and all stereotypes aren't to be taken seriously y'all :)


	7. Work and Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trail on Scofield is getting hot, and so is the tension between you both...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you came for the sexy-time, this is your chapter

Six hours after entering the Salt Lake City Bureau, you were sat amidst a flurry of papers and untidy stacks of reports, leaning your elbows on the table, scowling heavily and staring at the stainless-steel top.  
  


On the other side of the table, Mahone was busily working on his charts. When he just happened to glance up, the look on your face gave him a pause.

‘What is it?’

You didn’t look up. ‘The witness reports,’ you muttered. ‘Harold Jenkins is the guy with the only DB Cooper bill in his possession. They checked the serial numbers on the hundred he paid with at the gas station, and they matched. But it’s strange, in one report he says Cooper fuelled up at 7AM, and in a separate one, it was 7PM. So if he only paid once…’

‘He must have fuelled up twice,’ Mahone finished.

You nodded slowly, having come to the same conclusion. ‘I’ve got enough here,’ you announced, closing your file and notebook. A glance at the clock hanging above your head told you that you had worked quite far past office hours.

‘Tomorrow I’ll talk with the SLCPD detectives, as well as pay this Jenkins a visit, Lyle said the guy would have been eighteen when Cooper made the stop. Lang and Wheeler are also ready to update.’ You pushed back from the table. ‘Find anything else?’ No matter how tired you were, you kept your voice neutral as you had knew that the older agent was particularly irksome when his caffeine high from after lunch had begun to recede.

‘No,’ Mahone muttered without moving. He was staring at his chart and frowning.

You watched him silently for a long moment before saying, ‘Ready to head over to the hotel? Don’t know about you, but I’m ready for dinner and a drink.’

‘You drink on duty?’ Mahone asked suddenly as he tore his eyes away from an intricate diagram. The insinuation in the way he’d pronounced the ‘you’ made your brow furrow in annoyance.

‘You don’t?’ you shot back as you walked to the door of the lab, muttering under your breath darkly. ‘I got you to deal with, so can’t nobody blame me.’ A little liquor with dinner wouldn’t even register on a Breathalyzer and would go a long way to new brainstorms.

Mahone didn’t answer.

‘Look,’ you said tensely, standing in the doorframe. ‘I know you work your ass off, coming in early and leaving late, but you’re really going to have to figure out how to let loose a little. I don’t care how you do it, but the people we work with are going to strangle you if you don’t.’ You were itching to add a _me included_. ‘You can’t work around the clock and stay sharp enough to crunch this much data _and_ get inside Scofield’s head.’

Mahone tore his eyes away from the papers again and looked up at you seriously. ‘You think ‘letting loose’ is going to stop Bagwell from killing again? Is going to stop those cons from doing God knows what when they get to that money?’

‘I think that those cons are gonna need sleep and rest like any other normal person,’ you responded unflinchingly. ‘And we definitely do too.’  
  


Mahone just shook his head and let out a humourless laugh. You could see the tension in his frame: the tell-tale tremor had returned to his hands.

‘So, you coming or are you planning on staying here all night?’ you asked. Usually you wouldn’t dare speak to the intimidating agent in the way you had, but you were exhausted, and your patience was wearing thin. You didn’t really care what he did, but you knew that if he didn’t take it easy, you were the one that had to bear the brunt of his frustration tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Your assumption about his tiredness must have been correct, as he didn’t reply, simply putting several of the files into his bag before following you down the hall, and into the elevator.

‘So where are we going?’ he finally asked, punching the buttons.

‘Hotel ‘round the corner. Got the address here somewhere,’ you replied. ‘Then grab a bite, and go over a few small things for tomorrow?’

Mahone shrugged as the elevator doors slid shut. ‘We’ll see,’ he answered carelessly.

You looked over at him in shock. First, complete and total focus, and now, this. ‘You really are bipolar, aren’t you?’ you asked in a shocked tone, although the question was wholly rhetorical.

Mahone rounded on you. ‘What, didn’t you get to that part in my file?’ he asked scathingly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

‘Must have missed it, what with that three-pager of a psych-evaluation,’ you shot back, not looking away from Mahone once you were pinned by the man’s blue eyes. That had been a complete lie, as the aforementioned pages had been completely blacked out at your clearance level. Mahone knew that too.

‘You talk a lot of shit for an agent so inexperienced,’ he stated with a self-satisfied smirk, his gaze travelling up and down you thoughtfully.

You knew with absolute certainty that you did not want this conversation to continue. ‘How many strikes I got left?’ you asked instead, knowing Mahone had been keeping score.

‘None. Although that would imply you had any to begin with,’ he responded immediately, brushing past you into the parking garage.

Now it was your turn to smile, even while it stung a little to hear he hadn’t given you a chance to begin with. You knew he didn’t respect you, but you were beginning to not care anymore. You walked in silence that reigned until you were checking in to a hotel just a block or two from where you were going to spend your daylight and some of your night-time hours working the next few days.

You sighed as you threw down your duffel bags and suitcase, running your hands through your hair and then stretching. You had ended up on the same floor, several doors down from each other.

A hot shower sounded amazing just about now, so you kicked off your boots and started stripping down. You audibly groaned when the hot water hit your skin- there was something so gratifying about taking a shower after spending a morning on a flight and a day at the office. When it was almost time to wash the conditioner out of your hair however, you heard a polite knock on your door. Assuming it was room service with the rest of your luggage, you haphazardly wrapped a towel around the important parts, and rushed to the door, nearly slipping on the bathroom tiles.

Cussing at your own clumsiness, you yanked the door open, the apology for the wait dying on your lips as your eyes met watercolour blue ones, widened slightly in surprise.

Your stomach flip-flopped in response. ‘You’re not room-service,’ you managed lamely.

You would have laughed at how uncomfortable Mahone looked, if it hadn’t been for the embarrassed flush that had begun creeping up your neck and all over your face. ‘I was just showering,’ you muttered, looking back down at yourself.

‘Clearly,’ came the dry reply before Mahone looked down at your luggage in his hand. ‘They took yours up with mine,’ he said, holding out your bags.

Taking them from him was a different story however, as you only had the one hand free that wasn’t clutching the towel covering your decency. You apparently had packed much more than you needed- you flailed under the heavy weight as it threatened to unbalance you.

Two strong arms suddenly slid around you as Mahone instinctively caught you against his chest. You tried not to grab at him, but it was either that or continue your downward pitch, so you wrapped an arm around his neck and forced yourself to stay upright. You angrily thought you would have been able to keep on your feet if he hadn’t grabbed you and tried to help, but as it was, you were pulled off balance, practically falling into his arms as you struggled to regain your composure.

‘Whoa,’ Mahone said as he pulled you against him, one arm encircling your waist and holding tight, easily supporting your weight as the other regained purchase of your bags.  
  


Your only response was stunned silence. You looked up and met his eyes as neither of you moved out of the clumsy embrace. Your gut reacted to the proximity, and you stopped breathing when Mahone didn’t pull back. It registered how you felt against him, somehow fitting perfectly against his taller and broader frame, just like that night when…

Seconds passed, and you still couldn’t look away. A dull throb settled in between your legs and you bit down on the inside of your cheek to stifle a moan. You were just thinking that you would never hear the end of this if you gave in now, but then you suddenly felt _Mahone’s_ physical reaction to the close proximity. Having noticed as well, the older agent cleared his throat harshly and squared his shoulders, slowly backing away.

‘Shit,’ you finally muttered, hating the way your accent came out much stronger when you were aroused. Heart hammering, you swallowed and backed another step away. This wasn’t a good thing. You should shut the door again and take a shower.

‘I’ll get your bags,’ Mahone huffed, voice strangely husky as you nodded before hightailing it back to bathroom as gracefully as you could.

You braced yourself on the sink as your fingers curled around the porcelain. This couldn’t be happening. The redness on your cheeks had not receded, and you smoothed a hand through your still wet hair to- what? Make yourself more presentable?

You scoffed at your mirror image, unable to shake the tiny influx of insecurity. You liked what your Mama gave you well enough, having attracted a steady amount of male attention in the past without problem, and you also knew what you liked and what you didn’t when it came to the bedroom. But this, this was unknown territory. While his condescending tone and bossy behaviour certainly marked him out as one of the alpha dogs at the Bureau, when it was directed towards you it made your insides burn, and not always in a good way.

You readjusted your towel nervously. Every once in a while, you met someone who did this to you, who drove you crazy. God, why did it have to be him?

A quiet sound interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up to see Mahone standing in the doorway, looking at your reflection in the mirror with an unreadable expression on his face. Maybe he was feeling the heat and frustration that was riding through you just as much, but you thought that he seemed almost skittish.

‘Thanks for the help,’ you said quietly, trying to get away from this tension with a casual remark.

He didn’t answer, just continued staring until he finally took a step closer. You swallowed nervously. The color had drained slightly from his face, and there was definite caution in his eyes. His nerves were betrayed by the tremor in his hand as he reached up to lift your chin. Your stomach flipped again and your legs turned to jelly as he studied you, really looking at you for the first time. You did’t know what he was searching for, but suddenly his lips were only half an inch away from yours, and your breath hitched.

‘Minx,’ he accused breathlessly and then he kissed you, pulling you against his body.

A keening moan slipped from you, and you let him indulge himself, lapping up the noises you made hungrily. You lost yourself in the horribly tantalizing moment before pulling your head back just enough to break the contact and push gently at Mahone’s chest. ‘I’ve thought about this,’ you rasped as your breath gusted against his lips.

The older agent slowly opened his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. ‘This?’ he asked quietly, large hands dropping to your waist.

You nodded, biting your lip. ‘I thought that this might happen again,’ you admitted almost angrily as you forced yourself to stay still.

Mahone’s eyes narrowed into slits. ‘There’s no _this_ ’ he said seriously, but judging by the quaver in his voice much the opposite was true.

You did kiss him then, breathing in heavily through your nose as if you were about to dive under water. You figured that even if neither of you really understood what the hell was happening, then you might as well go ahead and enjoy it. His arm tightened around you as you met him with more strength, dizzy with the desire blasting through you. This was beyond crazy. Just … beyond. All your frustration and anger was quickly morphing into heat and passion and you had no idea what to think about that, other than that it left you panting with want.

Without warning, Mahone suddenly hefted you up and sat you on the counter, moving firmly in between your legs. Your surprised moan was quickly swallowed by his mouth closing atop yours, tongue delving in between your swollen lips.

‘This isn’t happening,’ he groaned against you when he pulled back to bury his face in your neck.

What you couldn’t know was that he was at war with himself. It had been over a year since his usually impressive libido (on the occasion the urge got hold of him) had found its release by anything but his own hand. In the solitude of his tiny, barely furnished bedroom he would chase a peak with each punishing stroke that he’d reach violently, the echo of Pam’s name dying his lips. He’d clean up the evidence of his shame still furious at himself, hating the lonely sheets that he knew he’d wake up tangled in the next morning, alone and hurting, caught in the machinations of his own design.

So now when you were pressing against him, warm and willing, an opportunity to lose himself in an unfamiliar body, he was struggling with himself to seriously consider it. His ex-wife was never going to come back. Maybe this was the universe telling him to move on…

Mahone scoffed, not one to believe in the cosmos and its secrets, and instead busied himself on extracting more of those breathy moans that you were making when he dug his teeth into just the right place below your jawline.

You nearly saw stars. ‘Alex,’ you moaned harshly, the familiar address slipping easily from your lips.  
  


‘Don’t,’ he hissed in response as he followed the trail of a water-droplet down your collarbone to where your chest was straining against the towel you were only barely clutching to yourself. ‘Don’t call me that.’

Apparently even foreplay wasn’t a time for first names, but you didn’t care, your patience and good sense were blown. You didn’t want to say no to this, and you didn’t want him to say no either, so you obeyed, chest and stomach taut with arousal.

‘Sorry, _Sir_ ,’ you drawled instead. Judging by the way his hands froze minutely and the way his voice came out harshly on his next command, you had hit a nerve.

‘Better,’ he muttered, and with an impatient tug he had pulled the towel down, leaving it to pool around your waist. Your next breath nearly choked you when you felt his hand on your stomach, sliding up to cup the weight of your breast.

You sighed and your arms flew tightly around his shoulders as you reacted, the dull throbbing between your legs an insistent presence. He groaned against you as he stroked a thumb over each straining bud slowly, his touch precise and delicate. Then he gave a sharp pinch and a hot sting shot through you, straight to your slickened core. Unable to contain it, a whine escaped you. Hot with need you longed for him to shove against you and take you right there on the bathroom counter.

The fabric of his suit was cool and your fingers began working at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to feel his skin, when your wrist was suddenly grabbed, and none too gently tugged away.

Mahone stared down at you, looking more like a wild animal than a man, chest heaving and eyes glossy with lust. Then he closed his eyes, visibly struggling to regain some kind of composure over himself. You knew what he was thinking. A heavy make-out session between two frustrated agents on a mission was one (rather common) thing. Fucking would be entirely another.

But you’d be damned if you let this opportunity pass.

You twisted out of his steely grip on your wrist, not letting go of his hand. Then feeling brave, you guided it to your collarbone, down your neck and between your breasts before settling just on the taut skin of your stomach, feeling his fingers map out the warm flesh. Mahone’s lips had fallen open slightly and you could feel his pulse thrum excitedly under your fingertips, but he kept his eyes shut tightly.

There was a moment’s pause, and then, abandoning any reservation you might have had, you pressed your towel into Mahone’s hand, sitting fully exposed on the countertop. Perhaps you should have felt shame, but knowing full well that he was letting you do this made it just that much more tantalizing and your hot ache deepened.

Mahone reacted instantly. ‘Turn over,’ he growled. It was a sharp command, leaving no time for you to object before he grabbed your arm and swung you around, pulling your bare ass back against him while wrapping his arm around you. His voice was dark when he purred, ‘If you make a sound, I swear you’ll regret it.’ The words sent a dull throb straight to your groin, and you heard Mahone shift out of his jacket. The familiar sound of a foil packet being ripped open made you fidget in anticipation, but Mahone’s hand pushing you roughly against the cold porcelain sink made you hold still.

His fingers trailed down your back surprisingly gently. A dark part of you actually wanted to struggle, wanted to find out what a man like Mahone would do if you put up just enough of a fight. But this, God, this was tantalizing and unexpected.

There was a moment’s pause, then the flat of his hand smoothed over your ass, stroking the sensitive skin where it met your thigh, before it slipped between your legs. You let out a whimper and bit your lip, knowing instinctively you shouldn’t have, but a second later a half-cry escaped as two fingers slid deep inside you.

‘Breathe,’ he instructed, moving his fingers back and forth into where he hoped to soon bury himself. You clenched around his digits as he teased and stroked, blushing furiously when an embarrassingly wet sound revealed just how much your body was enjoying his ministrations.

But Mahone didn’t seem to care, eyes shut and focussed on his task. With a tap at your ankle, he pushed your thighs so far apart that you were forced to brace your full weight against the sink, your toes curling against the tiles they could barely brush against in response. His fingers suddenly retreated, and you lowered your head and raised your hips higher, breathing out slowly in expectation of what you knew was going to hurt initially. You wanted it, though, wanted it badly. Your entire body shook with the desire.

When he brushed against your soaking slit, you both stopped breathing. Almost reverently he coated his tip with your slick, before nudging it between your lips. He pushed in past your rim slowly and you nearly screamed at how good it felt to be stretched around the intrusion. You squirmed a little, and Mahone ground in another few, torturous inches before beginning to rock gently against you, still getting you acclimated to his size rather than actively taking you.

You didn’t understand his hesitation, but you couldn’t stand not having him inside you completely for another second. You groaned plaintively, tensing involuntarily. ‘P-please,’ you urged. Mahone curved over your back, his hand coasting from shoulder to hip and around your waist. ‘Been a while,’ he admitted so quietly you almost missed it.

He felt so good he could barely stand it but was holding back for the same reason he had never been deep throated before- he had been always afraid of hurting the woman he slept with.

You let out a keen whine as your upper body could not find purchase the way it wanted to from the lack of leverage from your feet. You were completely left to the whims of your partner as you pressed the side of your face back against the mirror, eyelids snapping shut tightly as you could only bait him with the squeeze of your walls around him.

He continued to slowly fill you and then pull out to the tip over and over, his own harsh breathing making you wetter as you could only imagine how that handsome face of his looked when in throes of pleasure. Would his brow crinkle when you spasmed around him? His blonde lashes flutter with pleasure as he sunk in deeper?

Gasping softly as he rested his cheek against your back, Mahone pushed a little further, the clamp of your body an irresistible lure. ‘I’m not made of glass,’ you responded with an involuntary cry, ‘just fuck me!’

The smooth rocking paused as he pulled his hand out from under you, and then he snapped his hips forward, hard, burying himself deep to the hilt. You felt the soft material of his suit and the metal of his belt dig into your ass as his pelvis crowded up against you. You wriggled against him, physically begging for more as jolts of pleasure and hot, stretching pain ran through you. You threw your head back and let out a strangled gasp, gripping the edges of the sink tightly as you rewarded him by squeezing yourself around him.

Mahone braced himself, and suddenly loosed what little control he had left. He truly fucked into you and then some, a low growl growing deep in his chest, able to let loose when you just took more and more, clearly wanting it. It had never been this way for him, he had never been able to just let go.

You felt Mahone’s change of reaction as well as heard it. It thrilled you as it was so different from the sarcasm, anger, and cold dislike. It went straight to your belly and you whimpered. in response as your body found it insanely hot that you were able to do such a thing to the obviously more experienced, older man.

Your body suddenly tightened in warning.

‘C-close…,’ you managed hoarsely, but a strangled snarl was all you were given before Mahone dialled it up to ten as he rawed you. Your legs were shaking and your thighs a sticky mess as he drove his pelvis relentlessly hard into you to the point where your ass and the hipbones digging into the sink were definitely going to be bruised after this was all over.

But you couldn’t care less as you held on for dear life, suddenly violently hurtling over the edge. Gushing and shaking, savouring every hot wave that coursed through you, you had never come harder. You were cursing like a sailor as he continued thrusting into you, completely at his mercy as your walls contracted again and again. Then, his fingers gripped your hair and with three determined thrusts he came.

Your chest heaved as your whole body trembled from how close you were to overstimulation from that whole ordeal. Mahone was still buried inside you, warm and beginning to soften slightly. Your stomach jolted when you felt his thumb brush over your skin where his arm was curled around your waist, but you put it down to post-coital hormones rather than an actual affectionate gesture. You had a harder time placing the almost imperceptible nuzzle against your jaw in the same category, but when Mahone straightened, disposed of the condom and cleaned himself up rather matter-of-factly you knew that any possible moments of tenderness were over.

When he stood by the door, about to leave, but stopped to glance back at you, you knew it was a mistake to ask ‘what?’

An odd look was on his face but paired with the healthy flush that your rigorous activity had put on his cheeks, your heart skipped a beat as you couldn’t help but admire his handsome features for a breathless moment.

As your gaze flew to the mirror however, he was out of your room in a flash, gone before the expletive had left your mouth. ‘Bastard!’

Those hickeys would take a while to heal over.


End file.
